Withdrawal
by UThnkUrFunny IThnkImAdorable
Summary: AU Sequel to Lightness and Darkness. Separate they stand, together they fall. Sam and Dean must learn to live without the comfort of each other. Limp!Sam, Protective!Limp!Dean, Protective!John!Bobby NO WINCEST
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.  
**

**I know this first chapter is short, but it's only a prologue. (I was originally going to write more, but I've recently fallen ill -_-)**

**I hope this holds to all of your expectations. It's actually a boring chapter since I'm just setting the stage, but I promise you you'll be seeing our boys in abundance next chapter :)**

**Enjoy chapter one!**

* * *

Robert Singer, known by his friends as Bobby, made his way to the Bellevue Hospital in Bellevue, Nebraska.

While he did hunt, he spent most of his time in his home in South Dakota doing research for other hunters. But sometimes, like now, he needed to get out of his house and exercise his conning skills.

Two hours ago, he got a call from a relatively rookie hunter by the name of John Winchester. Something has happened. Something _bad_.

Bobby sighed as he looked at the clock. It would take _at least_ four more hours to get to that hospital and by that point, _anything _could have happened.

You see, John Winchester was the father of two non-biological sons, Sam and Dean. And these boys had... _unusual_ abilities. And because of their harsh upbringing at the hands of ignorant people, they were both emotionally and mentally fragile, often clinging to each other as a source of comfort.

John and his late wife, Mary, fostered these boys nearly five years ago, adopting them half a year later. And for once, these boys had a family that cared and nurtured them in the way parents should. But they hadn't even been together for a full year when Mary died.

And not just died. Killed. Killed by some supernatural entity.

To this day, they don't know what killed her or why. But since then, John became obsessed with the supernatural world. Nearly got himself killed in an amateur hunt before Bobby found him.

Bobby was the first hunter John had met. And almost immediately after realizing this, John spilled. He told the aged hunter everything, everything about his wife, the hunting and the boys. Bobby was a little shocked by how the man just caved, but with everything he's gone through, Bobby assumed he needed to vent.

When John explained the nature of his two kids, Bobby was compelled to research, trying to figure out what could have caused these boys to have such powers. He found several cases of children born with an empathic tendencies, but nothing to the magnitude of Sam and Dean's powers. In short, the boys were a mystery.

The Winchesters have since come to the Singer Salvage on a regular basis, usually when John needed a break from the supernatural world. Over the last few years, Bobby had developed a relationship with them, somewhat akin to family ties.

But for the most part, Bobby was not an active part of their lives and their visits remained few and far between.

So the panicked call from the eldest Winchester practically begging him to come and help was surprising, if not worrying.

When Bobby arrived at the Bellevue Hospital, he ran inside to the front desk.

"I'm looking for my brother-in-law, John Winchester," he said hurriedly.

The woman behind the desk looked a little surprised, but she quickly typed the name into her computer. "I'm sorry, but he's not seeing any visitors."

"He _called _me. I don't know what's going on. Can you tell him I'm here?"

"Of course. Just please take a seat."

Bobby resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew hospital procedure was there for a reason, but it still was a pain in the ass. _Please take a seat..._ Like Bobby could settle down.

It was over three hours before Bobby heard anything, despite his frequent questioning. The hospital had _finally_ decided to let him through to see John. Seriously pissed for being made to wait so long, Bobby rushed to the room where they said John Winchester was.

John was sitting on the bed, looking _pissed_ as _hell_. His arm was in a sling and his shoulder was wrapped with thick gauze. And he was currently shouting at his doctor.

"You have _no_ right to keep me from them! They're _my_ sons and--!"

"I _understand_, Mr. Winchester..."

"You don't understand _anything,_ you piece of shit! I'm telling you to let me outta here AMA so I can see my sons, but you keep insisting--!"

"Mr. Winchester!" the doctor finally shouted. "That is enough. You will stay here until further notice. If necessary, we will post a guard here, for the safety of your sons."

Bobby cleared his throat to get their attention. When the doctor turned his head, he said, "I'm his brother-in-law."

The doctor nodded. "Right. If you'll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to." And with this, he left, closing the door behind him.

"What happened, John?" Bobby asked.

"These doctors are asshats, that's what," John growled.

Bobby indicated John's shoulder. "And how did that happen?"

John's face softened a little, his hand unconsciously going up to his shoulder. "It was an accident," he said quietly.

Bobby sighed, pulling up a chair. "Where's Sam and Dean?"

John's face hardened again. "In here. Somewhere. Doctors won't let me see them."

Bobby frowned. "Why not?"

"They... they have to _investigate_ the incident."

Bobby sighed. Getting information out of John was going to be like pulling teeth. "John, if you don't tell me everything that happened, I'm not going to be able to help."

"You can help by finding the boys and getting them outta here! I can't just sit here while they're being harassed and questioned! If you can--!"

"I _understand,_" Bobby said slowly. "I really do. But in order for me to help you, you have to tell me what happened."

John sighed, running a hand down his face. He let out a chuckle. "I must be the worst father on earth."

"That remains to be seen," Bobby said impatiently. "Now start from the beginning. _What... happened?"_

John closed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this..." He looked up at Bobby imploringly. "I... I think they're addicted."

Bobby did a double-take. "Addicted?! They've been doing _drugs?!_"

John shook his head. "No, not to drugs..."

Bobby frowned. "John... what are you saying?"

John swallowed. "I think they're addicted... to _each other_."

* * *

**So that's the prologue!  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**I'm so sorry for the delay... it has been one _hell_ of a week. Thank god it's over.  
**

**I'm a little uncertain about certain parts of this chapter... remember to drop your most honest opinion :)  
**

**Enjoy chapter two!**

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**Twelve Hours Ago**

John tapped the wheel of the impala, thinking this through _very carefully_.

For the last... month? Year? Heck, maybe for the last forever... John had become increasingly worried about his sons' relationship.

At first, it wasn't that bad. They had only known John for barely a year and had just lost the only mother they really knew. It was perfectly logically for them to be clingy and dependent on each other, especially given their 'abilities.'

It was subtle at first, but there. Sam acting more angry than usual, or Dean just not wanting to talk. But for the most part, the interactions between Sam and Dean remained the same. Dean's tendency to break everything in a two-mile radius while Sam remains sullenly silent.

But in the last... oh, month or so, John's been noticing some _different_ behavior. Worrying behavior.

At times, their personalities would do a complete 180. Sam would go into temper tantrums and destroy everything in his reach, while Dean simply sat there and stared blankly into space. But more often than that, they would be homogeneous. John would ask Dean a question and they would both answer with the exactly same words and tone. It was almost as if they were becoming one person.

But the more John thought about it, the more worried he became. He remembered how Sam once described their connection.

_"It's... It's like dancing," Sam said with a smile. "I can feel him like no one else can. It's like being lifted so high, the earth can't even touch you."_

_Being lifted so high_... if that didn't sound like they were taking drugs, then John didn't know what did.

They were getting addicted to _each other_. They were flying so high in each other's minds that they wanted nothing else. That's why, as time wore on, they were getting harder and harder to separate.

God, so where do the problems _begin?_

And this led to John, sitting in his car, with his sons inside, trying to figure out what to do. They couldn't keep living like this, that much was certain. But John didn't know what to do about it. They were so dependent on each other, separating them just seemed plain cruel.

John sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. _I need you, Mary..._

When there was no answer, John sat back up and got out of the car. _I'm going to have to wean them off each other. l need to make them more independent... they're going to have to be more independent if they want to survive..._

He unlocked the motel room and walked in, finding the boys asleep in each others arms. John sighed. He was thankful for the fact that there was absolutely nothing sexual going on between them. That would have added a whole _new_ list of issues to work through with the boys.

"Sam, Dean, wake up." John lightly hit the blanket laying over their legs. "Need to talk to you boys."

Practically in sync, the boys blinked tiredly as they work up, both sitting up at the same time. "What is it...?" they both responded tiredly.

John ignored the creepiness of their synchronization. "Dean, you're coming with me to practice shooting."

That woke the boys up quick. "Me?" Dean asked. "Why me?"

"I just wanna work with you on a few things. There's always room for improvement, Dean."

Dean looked down at his brother, who gave him a slightly panicked look. "What about Sam?"

"I'll work with him tomorrow," John replied. "We won't be more than an hour or two, Sam."

Sam frowned a little. "Wait... you mean..." he swallowed. "I'm staying... _here?_"

"You're fifteen, Sam," John said. "You're more than old enough to hold fort for an hour or two."

Sam's eyes widened and he immediately seized Dean's arm, his body already physically shaking. The thought of being separated like that made him want to shiver with the cold emptiness that would be left behind.

Dean felt exactly the same, confusing assailing him. "Why can't Sam come with us?"

"I just want to spend some time with you, Dean," John said. "Like a one-on-one session. I'll be working with Sam tomorrow."

Sam gripped Dean's arm tighter, his stomach turning in on itself. "B-but Dad..."

Dean narrowed his eyes at John, and John could tell that Dean knew his intentions.

"One hour," Dean said quietly. "One hour and no more."

Sam looked up at his brother incredulously, but then he felt his brother reassure him and he calmed down. "O-okay..." Sam said quietly.

"We're only going to the clearing in the woods across the street," John said as Dean put on his shoes. "Call me if anything comes up."

Sam nodded numbly as he clutched tightly at Dean's arm. "One hour," Sam said quietly.

Dean nodded, placing a hand over Sam's. "One hour."

---

Dean glared at his father's back as they walked through the woods. He had been waiting for this. They few times he actually had skin-to-skin contact with his father had been enough to show Dean how worried he was about Sam and Dean's interactions.

Honestly, it pissed him off. How could his father be so judgmental? He knew about their powers, he knew (to a certain extent) what they had gone through in the past, he knew how fragile Sam still was... why can't John just leave them as is?

"We need to talk," John said, his pace remaining constant.

Dean rolled his eyes, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets. "About Sam and I, right?"

"You remember that conversation we had the night..." John clenched his teeth, "the night your mother... died."

Dean paused in his step, the bubble of rage building inside of him. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well... I let it go for a while, considering. But... Dean, my arguments still stand."

They got to the clearing, where John took out a couple pistols, tossing one to Dean. Dean caught the gun with ease as he glared at his father. "So do mine. We're surviving fine as it is."

John set a couple beer bottles on their makeshift fence. "Even though we're hunters now, my goal is still the same." He turned to Dean. "To give you boys the best lives you can."

"We're fine," Dean insisted as he aimed and fired, the right-most bottle shattering. Despite his left eye being completely blind, he still had a deadly aim. "We wanna hunt the thing that killed Mom. We're content with that."

"And what about after that?" John asked. "You can't tell me you boys would be fine with just hunting for the rest of your lives?"

"Why not?" Dean asked, shooting another bottle with deadly accuracy. "Even if we were to be completely independent, there's no way we could live normal lives. Not with what we know, not with what we are," he growled.

"Alright..." John said, setting up a few more bottles. "Let's say you guys really do want to hunt for the rest of your lives. What if you need to split up for a job. Or you guys get separated. You still have to be able to survive on your own."

A sense of panic filled Dean, accompanying the rage. His hands were slightly shaking as he took aim and fired again, shattering another bottle. _When did it get so cold?_

"Dean..." John said imploringly, "You boys are so attached to each other that it's dangerous."

Dean didn't really have any argument against John, but he still didn't think he was right. He aimed at another bottle and completely missed. He brought his hands down, hoping John didn't notice how much they were shaking.

"And I know..." John said, "that you're perfectly smart enough to understand what I'm saying." He looked down at Dean's shaking hands and his pale pallor. "And I think you agree with me."

Dean glared at John. "'M just cold," he mumbled as he aimed for the same bottle... and missed. He lowered his pistol again, closing his eyes. The emptiness in his mind seemed to be growing, it's cold tendrils seizing his entire body. "H-how long have we been out here?"

John looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes." He watched Dean sag. "It's getting worse, Dean. A year ago, this would have been fine. At some point it's going to get so bad you can't stand to _ever_ be physically separated. Not even enough to go to the bathroom. Do you really want you and your brother to get to the point where you're pissing on each other 'cause you can't stand to be apart?"

---

Sam paced the room at such a speed that he was making himself dizzy. The walls seemed to be reaching out for him, like they were trying to grab him. He whimpered quietly as he sat in the very middle of the room and curled into a small ball, trying to make the world disappear. Past memories, memories that weren't his, memories that weren't _real, _were clawing at his mind, all fighting for domination. He clutched his head, pulling on his hair. The pain seemed to ward off the memories, but just barely.

**_"Freak!"_**

**_Sam sobbed hysterically as he found himself lost in someone else's terror, his mind not even comprehending the intense emotions that assaulted his body_. _He felt dirty, violated. Like he didn't even exist, he was only everybody else._**

**_"Why doesn't Dean just get rid of you!?" the child screamed. "You're just a monster! Why don't you just go and DIE!"_**

Sam sobbed as he squeezed his head hard, pushing his body into the tightest ball possible. He clawed at the arms, trying to bring himself back into the world. But the memories were devouring him, consuming him, and filling him with nothing but the horrors of others.  
**  
_For a while, all he was aware of were the images of broken children, children missing body parts, naked children cowering in terror with pieces of their body missing. It went on for hours before reality took hold._**

**_But the reality was worse._**

**_The only bit of reality that registered was his brother hover over him, his brother who was sobbing__. Sobbing so hard Sam barely recognized him_.**

**_"I-I... I'm s-so s-s-sorry..." Dean sobbed before his harsh cries stole his voice, his eyes screwed shut in resignation and despair. _**

Sam gasped as he suddenly jumped into standing position. _Find Dean..._ The memories still fought for freedom, still tried to pierce and rape Sam's mind mercilessly, but that single thought was able to temporarily keep them at bay.

_Find Dean... Find Dean.... Find Dean..._

Sam's vision was blurred and swayed back and forth, but he managed to find the door.

_Find Dean..._

He twisted it open and practically flung the door open, wobbling out the door and into the parking lot.

_**"Wake up!" the woman screamed. She had Sam by the collar, shoving him against the floor repeatedly. "I said, wake UP!" she screeched, slapping Sam hard across the face.**_

Sam jerked, bringing an arm up to protect him from the old assailant. He stood there for a few moments, shaking violently. When he realized he was alone, he brought his arm down and started scratching it again, ignoring the blood collecting under his fingernails.

_Find Dean... Find Dean..._

Sam managed to cross the street and enter the woods. _Find Dean, find Dean_, the voice whispered more earnestly.

"D-De..." Sam whimpered as he walked drunkenly through the woods. _Up here... Dean is right up here!_ Sam broke into a run, his focus narrowing onto his brother. _Find Dean, find Dean, find Dean!_

---

Dean grabbed his wrist, trying to get it to stop shaking. "Sam needs me..." Dean said almost pleadingly.

"Maybe," John said quietly. "But I know you want what's best for your brother. And _I_ want what's best for both of you. Dean, you _have _to trust me."

Dean swallowed, bring up his gun again and aiming. He had hit another bottle, but unfortunately he had aiming for the one next to it.

Suddenly, something grabbed him from behind, making him lose his balance and his trigger finger squeezing automatically.

A sharp _'ping!_' echoed in the air before a sharp cry.

John fell backwards, his hand coming up to his shoulder. Blood was already starting to flow from the fresh wound.

Dean turned around, a little shell shocked. Sam's arms were wrapped tightly around his chest. Sam himself was shaking and sobbing violently. Dean quickly dropped his pistol and returned the embrace, his mind automatically searching through Sam's, trying to find his little brother amid the perfusion of horrid images. It took him longer than usual, but he found him, found him in a small corner in a small recess of his mind, curled into a small protective ball. Dean quickly wrapped himself around that small frightened ball, slowly coaxing it out of its protective demeanor.

Sam, feeling his brother's presence, let himself be surrounded by him, letting him block all of the memories and erasing the feelings of violation from his mind.

John sat back up, watching his sons in a familiar act. He gave a small grunt as he tried to staunch the blood flowing from his shoulder. _Great, now what?_

* * *

**I've got some pretty interesting stuff in store, so stay tuned :)  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**Man... first the gigantic snow storm, then the power was out for nearly 24 hours, now another storm is here... you'd think I'd have more time to write :P  
**

**Remember, if you got problems or complaints about any part of this story/chapter, just let me know and I'll try and fix it :)  
**

**Enjoy chapter three!**

* * *

Bobby sighed, taking his hat off and running a hand through his graying hair. "Not sure that was the most tactful way to deal with it, John," he said quietly.

John shrugged. "It's dangerous. I needed to do _something_."

"Then call me," Bobby said. "When its something this unpredictable, you call for help. Not try and deal with it on your own."

John bit his lip, his eyes narrowed in a scowl. "Can you... can you just check on them? Make sure they're okay?"

Bobby nodded. "'Course, John. But why aren't they letting _you_ see them?"

John laughed bitterly. "I'm being suspected of neglect and possible abuse."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "This is why I hate hospitals." He sighed. "Don't worry. I'll get your boys outta here."

John nodded. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me yet," Bobby said as he left the room.

John shook his head, laughing lightly. Even though nothing's been resolved, he felt so much better knowing Bobby was there.

---

"Can you tell me where Sam and Dean Winchester are?" Bobby asked the receptionist.

The receptionist shook her head. "I'm sorry, no visitors allowed for them."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"I'm sorry, sir." She turned back to her computer and said nothing else.

Bobby clenched his teeth, making sure his fists don't suddenly fly on their own accord. "Can I at least talk to their doctor?" he asked calmly.

She nodded. "I'll let him know you want to see him."

"Thank you," he said ungraciously.

Fifteen minutes later, a young woman came out, asking for Bobby. "I heard you were looking for me," she said, offering her hand.

Bobby took it. "Bobby Singer."

"Dr. Yale Moore."

"Can you _please_ tell me what's going on with my nephews?" Bobby asked impatiently.

She nodded. "Let's go someplace more private, shall we?"

When they entered her office, she offered him a seat, but he refused. She gave a small nod as she sat down.

"How often do you see your nephews, Mr. Singer?"

"Once or twice a year," Bobby responded tersely. "Why aren't you letting John see them?"

Dr. Moore sighed. "Mr. Singer, when your brother-in-law and his sons came in, we became concerned about Sam and Dean's mental heath."

"You realize they were adopted, right?" Bobby said angrily. "Their past homes were shit. You don't expect some mental scars were left behind."

"Mr. Singer, I've been through their file. Only one of their past homes were deemed abusive. All the other homes claim that the boys were trouble makers. Violent trouble makers. It's my speculation that in order to control them, your brother-in-law resorted to violence."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "And if you bothered to even talk to the boys, you'd realize what's in that stupid 'file' of yours is bullshit! John has taken better care of those boys than all of their other homes combined!"

"You statement will be taken into consideration," she said. "As will the bruises and cuts we've found on them."

"My _god_, woman--!"

"Mr. Singer, I will have you escorted off the premise if you continue."

Bobby clenched his fists. Usually doctors were reasonable. Sensible, at least. But this woman seemed completely off her gourd. "May I see them?" Bobby said as calmly as possible.

Dr. Moore shook her head. "I'm sorry. No one but authorized personnel may see them."

Bobby scoffed. "Great! So you got two traumatized boys separated from their father and being poked and prodded by completely strangers!"

Dr. Moore stood. "Mr. Singer, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

_My ass_. I took every bit of will power in him to hit her across the feet and send her flying out the window. But he knew that it wouldn't get him anywhere, so he plastered on a fake smile and marched out of the room. _Alright, time for plan B_.

---

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked softly.

Sam and Dean were curled at the end of one of the beds, Dean's arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders. Doctors ushered them into this room nearly six hours ago, the following two being filled with questions and small examinations. Most of the doctors were worried mostly about Sam, who remained completely silent and shaking, curled against Dean's chest, which was no small feat considering he was a good inch or two taller than his older brother, if much skinnier.

They've been left alone for about two hours now, long enough for Sam to crawl out of his shell.

"Getting help," Dean said a little guiltily, feeling more than a little responsible for this situation.

Sam turned his head towards Dean's. "It was accident."

Dean sighed. "Yeah."

"I mean... It's just as much my fault as yours. I shouldn't have... startling someone with a loaded gun is never smart."

Dean gave a halfhearted smile. "Still..."

Sam pinched his brother's side. "Not your fault."

Dean nodded. "At the moment, it's the least of our problems."

Sam's eyes darkened. "They... They won't _really_... take us away... will they?"

Dean hated himself for causing his brother to retreat back into his shell, but he needed to work this out. "Probably. The one time we have a _decent_ family, and _now_ they're worried about our well being."

Sam shivered, scooting closer to Dean. "We need to leave... run."

"Yeah, but getting all three of us out without anyone noticing is about as easy as escaping from Alcatraz."

Sam nodded slowly. "Then what?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What do we do then? Just run?"

John's words echoed in the back of Dean's mind, but he pushed them back. This incident was enough to convince Dean that he couldn't leave his brother's side no matter what. This was the only way to keep his brother sane.

"We deal. We deal and just keep moving, like we've always done."

---

Bobby walked back into John's room with a hard expression. "Alright. We're getting outta here tonight."

John frowned in worry. "Are the boys alright?"

"I dunno. They wouldn't let me see 'em. Which is all the more reason to git outta here now."

John swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What do you have in mind?"

"You stay here and rest. You're gonna need it."

John rolled his eyes. "Bobby..."

"I mean it, John! Bullet wounds are nothing to mess around with, I don't care what kinda training you got! You just get as much rest as possible and I'll deal with the rest.

John _was_ exhausted, but he still didn't like the idea of sitting on his ass while Bobby does everything. "I need to do _something_."

"Rest, John," Bobby insisted. "I guarantee you're gonna need it. With what you need to do with Sam and Dean... you've got a tough battle ahead."

John relented, closing his eyes with a sigh. Just thinking about what he's going to have to do with his boys was tiring. "I guess you're right."

"Damn straight," Bobby said seriously. "I'll be back later. Gotta make a few arrangements."

---

Dr. Moore walked into her patients' room, clipboard in hand. "Sam, Dean, I'd like you to meet Mr. Gerisher. He'll be your social worker."

Sam shrunk back and squeezed himself tighter against Dean as the man walked into the room. Dean simply glared at the man, making it perfectly clear that he was not wanted here.

"Hello, Dean. Sam." Mr. Gerisher grabbed a chair and sat by the boys' bed. "I want to ask you a few questions."

"He's not abusing us, he's a great father, better than any of the other crap families people like you sent us to, he's does the best he can with what he's got. Any other questions?" Dean asked threateningly.

Mr. Gerisher smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Now, are you just saying that because you don't want your step-father to get in trouble, or do you truly believe that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What is it with you people? You just happen to want to help us when we _don't_ need help, but somehow manage to treat us like shit when we _do_ need help?! God, your system is so _screwed...!_"

The social worker shifted his eyes to Sam, who was trembling slightly in his brother's embrace. "What about you, Sam? What do you think?"

When Sam made no indication of hearing him, Mr. Gerisher lost all his stoic features. "Hey, _boy_. It's rude to not answer someone when they're asking a question. _Answer_ me, you little shit."

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't talk to him like that."

Dr. Moore stepped forward. "Calm down, Dean. It's about time your brother learned some manners."

Sam's trembling increased as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder. Dean tightened his embrace. "I'm nineteen years old," Dean growled. "I was given guardianship over Sam a year ago. If you don't leave, right now, I'm suing."

Mr. Gerisher's eyebrows went up. "You're an adult? Why didn't you say so? That changes things a little." He stuck a hand in his folder and took out a sheet of paper, writing down a couple things. "Since you're an adult, I have no jurisdiction over you. You can choose to press charges for assault and battery -- "

"He does't hit us!" Dean yelled. "These scars are from previous homes that people like _you_ put us in!"

" -- your brother, on the other hand, is a different issue. Since he is a minor, his well being is my responsibility, however regretabally. And because of the circumstances, you have no say in this matter as of this moment."

Dean's jaw nearly dropped. "Y-you're... _n-not_ taking Sam away."

Sam tightened his grip on Dean, as if trying to make sure the doctor and social worker didn't tear them apart.

Mr. Gerisher have a strained smile as he stood. "Unfortunately, I have to run. But I'll be by tomorrow to continue discussing your brother's case."

"There _is_ no case," Dean said dangerously even.

Mr. Gerisher didn't respond to the retort. "Until tomorrow." With this, the Mr. Gerisher and the doctor left the room.

Dean relaxed a little once they were gone, but not completely. "We have to get outta here..."

Sam desperately sought the center of Dean's mind, trying to hide himself from the world and the horror of the Reality. _Please don't take me away... please don't take me away..._

* * *

**Hope you liked! Seriously though, tell me if something is bad/annoying/not well written, etc**

**Coupla disclaimers first:**

**1) I know NOTHING of how guardianship works in cases like this, so a lot of actions that happened this chapter wouldn't have happened in real life. I try to make it as realistic as possible, but it's hard to full research stuff like this before writing it.**

**2) the doctor and the social worker were extra mean on purpose. I'm fully aware that a social worker in their right mind would never say such a thing or even think it. The reason their acting this way will be revealed later.**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**I think some of you are going to be very upset with what happens in this chapter. Just keep in mind the emotional factors and the desperation it can cause.**

**In regards to last chapter, I just want to remind people that I have NO knowledge of legal actions so some of the event of the last chapter may not be factual. Also, the doctor and social worker are NOT just jerks. Their behaviour will be briefly addressed in this chapter.  
**

**Enjoy chapter four!**

* * *

Bobby snuck back into the hospital during the small hours of the morning. There were still some people in the waiting room, most with screaming children, so getting past the hospital staff proved to be relatively easy.

Walking as casually as possible, Bobby made his way to John's room, slipping inside and quietly closing the door behind him.

"John," Bobby whispered. "John!"

John started awake, brandishing a syringe in the air.

"John!" Bobby grabbed John's arm. "It's me!"

John's eyes widened a little in recognition. "Bobby, what're you doing?"

"Get dressed," Bobby said, throwing a uniform at the man.

John frowned. "Hospital scrubs?"

"Orderly Patterson," Bobby mumbled, throwing the name tag at John. "You will be escorting the two bodies," he held up toe tags, "of the late Sam and Dean Winchester."

John smiled. "_Now_ we're talking."

"You're gonna have to take that sling off. I don't think orderlies work with slings. You'll be alright without it?"

John scoffed. "I'm be fine."

"Alright, then. Then let's go."

---

Sam was asleep in Dean's arms, his dreams peaceful and boring. Dean stayed awake and alert, not willing to let his guard down in a place like this.

He thought about the earlier exchange they had with the doctor and social worker. Their behaviour wasn't that surprising. Their whole lives, people fawn and think Dean can do no wrong. They want to take care of him and give him everything he needs. Contrariwise, people treat Sam like trash, like he just climbed out of the sewer and was offering to stuff them with rats. How intense this behaviour shows itself seems to vary person to person. In the case of the doctor and social worker, it seemed to be an extreme. Meanwhile, people like... Mary... John, and Bobby seemed to be the exact opposite.

Dean leaned his head against Sam's. "What are we, Sam?" Dean whispered, "That we could have such an effect on people..."

Sam just turned over onto his side and slung an arm over Dean's chest in response, fully relaxed. Dean smiled.

A soft rattle outside the door had Dean at attention again. It sounded like it was coming from down the hallway. _Late night emergency? _he thought. But the sound got closer and the soft sound of footsteps started to echo into the room.

His brother's anxiousness leaking through, Sam slowly woke up. Then, hearing the same noise as his brother, he was suddenly awake and terrified. "I-is it...?"

"Shh..." Dean hushed softly. He rubbed a comforting hand up and down Sam's arm as he wrapped a hand around the bedside lamp, readying himself to brandish it.

When the doorknob started to turn, Dean tensed and tightened his grip on the lamp. Sam pressed his body against Dean's trying to keep himself calm.

The door opened and John leaned in. "Boys?"

Dean visibly relaxed, sighing in relief. Sam sat up a little, smiling at his father.

John felt intense relief at seeing his sons alright. He walked in, Bobby following closely behind with two gurneys. "Hey, you boys alright?"

"We're fine," Sam said. "Just want to get out of here."

John nodded. "Alright. We're gonna wheel you out through the morgue. With any luck, they won't realize you're gone until morning."

Dean suddenly realized that his father was wearing a hospital get-up.

"That's what the gurneys are for?" Sam asked.

John paused before answering, his gaze swiveling between his two sons for a moment. "Yeah. And we got toe tags."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

Bobby frowned. It was so unlike Sam to be this animated. He looked over at Dean who was just sitting there sullenly. _Okay, this is just creepy._

Dean and Sam got off the bed simultaneously, walking to the gurneys. They looked at each other for a moment before letting go of each other's hands and climbing up on the gurneys.

As they threw sheets over their bodies Bobby looked over at John, who was giving Bobby a look of _I told you so_.

Bobby shook his head as he carefully put the toe tag on Sam, being careful not to touch him. It was suddenly made very apparent to him that something had to be done about these boys. Exactly _how_ to do it was another story.

---

Their escape from the hospital went completely smooth, which was surprising considering their luck as of late. They split off from Bobby, Bobby making them swear to meet him at his salvage. They got into the impala and drove off as fast as they could without being pulled over.

After only half an hour on the road, Sam and Dean were asleep in the back, Sam's head resting on Dean's shoulder.

John adjusted his rear view mirror so he could watch them. It was a great feeling to have them under his wing again, away from ignorant authorities. But there was still that sinking feeling in his stomach that came up whenever he thought about how dependent his boys are on each other. In John's eyes, this whole incident was evidence to how much this needed to be dealt with.

This addiction was similar to any other addiction. So what do you do with someone who's hooked on heroine? John knows that the best way to get someone to stop taking heroine is to make them realize that it's more painful for them to continue doing it than it is to stop. But John has no idea how to get them to think that it's _painful_. Sam and Dean are flying off each other. If this last incident doesn't convince them that they're behaviour does more harm that good, then John doesn't know what will.

_Man, Bobby I hope you've got an idea, 'cause I'm lost._

---

The boys slept for the majority of the six to seven hours it took to get to Singer Salvage. They only woke up once when they went to get breakfast.

They were sleep in the back again as John pulled up to Bobby's house. He turned off the ignition and sighed.

He had a conversation with Bobby over cell phone as Sam and Dean were eating their breakfast. Bobby did have an idea. It was drastic and could end in disaster. But what else could they do? So, John agreed, albeit reluctantly.

But before they put that plan into action they, were going to try one last ditch effort to reason with them. To get them to slowly get used to being apart.

"Sam, Dean, wake up. We're here."

---

"Dean, have you thought about what I said before?"

Dean stiffened. "I think the incident with the _guns_ cleared things up," Dean growled.

"I agree," John said. He sat down in the chair facing the couch that Sam and Dean were sitting on. "You boys... you can't stay like this. You need to learn to live without each other's minds."

Sam's eyes widened. "B-but the memories... I-I can't... not without Dean...!"

"Yes, you can. You just don't know how. And Bobby and I are going to help you. You _can_ survive without each other. You just need to learn how."

"No," the boys said together, the same amount of fear and conviction in each voice.

John swallowed. "I just want you boys to be happy. And you _won't_ be happy in the end of this continues."

"You don't know anything!" Sam said.

"What we've been through..." Dean said.

"... what we are!"

"You can't... just _expect _us..."

"... to abandon each other to those memories!"

"You can't fucking make us...!"

"... and you can't change us!"

John just looked at his sons, a sort of sadness seeping into his bones. _I have no choice. _If they remain like this, their going to fall so deep into each other that they start ignoring their bodies' needs. They not even going to be in the world. _Eventually, __it's gonna kill them._..

"Alright. We'll talk about it later. Now, I think we could all use some shut eye."

The boys nodded, both standing up and heading upstairs, their father behind them.

"You know I love you boys, right?"

Dean frowned turning to face John. "We know. Why?"

John shook his head, adjusting his arm in his sling. "I just want you know. You boys mean everything to me."

Sam looked at his father in confusion. "Dad..."

John shrugged him off. "Nah, just ignore me. Getting a little sentimental in my old age is all."

Dean gave a hesitant smile. "We love you too, Dad."

John nodded. "Now go one, get some sleep."

They nodded. They opened the door that led to their room and walked inside.

Suddenly, John leaned forward and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him back as Bobby slammed the door to Dean's room and locked it with a bolt lock.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed. He pulled against John's grip, panic taking hold. "DEAN! _DEAN!_"

**_He sat in the back of the closet, shivering from fear and the cold. He heard a loud thump and knew that his father was home._**

**_"WHE-EEERE'S THAAAA' LI'LL BRAAT!" a loud voice slurred._..**

"_DEEEAAN!!" _Sam screeched desperately.

"SAM!" Dean pounded against the door, his vision red as he practically threw himself at the door. "JOHN, YOU BASTARD! LET ME OUT _NOW!!!_"

As quickly as possible and trying his best to ignore his eldest's screams and the quivering body in his arms, John dragged Sam to a room at the end of the hall. Sam's screams were now choked in his throat, his eyes glazing over and his body shaking with fear.

John placed Sam on the bed as best he could before he walked out, Bobby closing and locking the door behind him.

"B-Bobby..." John choked.

Bobby took in a deep breath, all of this disturbing him on a level he doesn't even dare acknowledge. "Yeah, John?"

"Th-this is gonna help them, right?" John looked at Bobby, suppressed tears welling in his eyes. "We didn't have any other choice, right?"

Bobby flinched as Dean screamed expletives at his father. "I sure hope so."

* * *

**Yeah... PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! *hides***

**PS I tired to proofread more carefully this time so hopefully there are less errors  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**Oh man... I think it's been forever since I've updated! I'm so sorry! Life has been so hectic... but spring break is the week after this, so hopefully I'll be able to write more often! :)**

**I hope this chapter is worth the wait!  
**

**Enjoy chapter five!**

* * *

The screaming stopped about half an hour ago. John didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

Bobby had a couple friends come and get things ready while they were still at the hospital. Reinforcing the door, barring the windows and so forth.

For nearly an hour, Dean spat expletives and threw himself at the door. He switched off between pleading with John and screaming death threats at him.

Over an hour.

For over an hour, John sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched tightly in front of him, mentally telling himself that this was for their own good, that he had no other choice.

Now it was quiet. John stayed stiff in his position. Bobby drained the last of the Jack Daniels. "Now what?"

"You're asking me?" John stood and went to the bottom of the stairs, looking up to where his sons were. "I should have seen this coming." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I _did_ see this coming. Mary and I both. We were worried about how close they were. I even talked to Dean about it. But then... with Mary..."

Bobby stood and walked up to him. "Making rational decisions ain't easy when it comes to family."

John started up the stairs. "I'm... gonna check on Sam."

"What about Dean?"

John gave a bitter smile. "He'll kill me as soon as I enter that room. I'll check on him after he's calmed down a bit." Really not feeling like discussing it any further, he quickly ascended the stairs. A jolt of guilt shot through him as he passed Dean's room. He pushed the unwanted nagging thoughts away, continuing to Sam's room.

Sam gasped as someone knocked on the door, only calming a little when he realized it was his father asking for permission to enter.

John came in without waiting for a response, knowing he wasn't likely to get one. His eyes quickly scanned the room, finding Sam huddled against the wall that was adjacent to Dean's room. Sam met his eyes for only a moment before quickly looking away.

"Hey, buddy." John closed the door behind him. He settled down next to Sam, watching him with something akin to apprehension.

Sam had grown a lot in the last few years. While still needing some coaxing from his brother, Sam was eating more than just a few nibbles at each meal. He was still underweight, the hunting burning more calories than he took in, but he wasn't as frail as he had been before.

And yet Sam looked as though he were going to shatter at any moment. His eyes had a glossy quality as he fixed his gaze on the wall, no doubt trying to picture his brother, trying to bring him into his reality. He was squirming and cringing. His recollection of memories hitting Sam now that his brother wasn't there to block the images.

"Can..." John took in a breath. "Can you hear me?"

Sam's breathing quickened and his eyes widened until he cringed away. Then his body stiffened for a moment, his breathing stopping. Then his body relaxed and his breathing returning to normal.

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry for whatever... pain this may be causing you. But ... you're smart, so I know you'll understand... The way you and Dean have been living... it's just too dangerous. For both of you."

He spent the better part of two hours talking to Sam. First about his reasons for separating them, then about how proud he was of both of them. And finally about the most nonsensical things in the world.

As John spoke, Sam was completely unaware of anything around him except the wall. He could almost _feel_ his brother's warmth just on the other side. Besides that, every bad memory imaginable was dominating his senses, crushing him into a thousand little pieces deep in the recesses of his mind.

It wasn't just a need to get to Dean so he could take away the memories... Oh no, it was much more than that.

Sam wanted to keep Dean from his _own_ bad memories. Sam wanted to be there to help his big brother process the bad memories swirling through his head.

They needed _each other_. That much Sam was certain.

He had to find Dean. He had to get to him _now_.

_Simon smiled wickedly as he dragged the knife down Sam's side, laughing at the boy's screams and struggles..._

The horrid memories seemed to fade into the back of his mind a little and, suddenly, he could see reality much clearer. Completely ignoring his father, he saw the door. His mind was working a hundred miles an hour, connecting the door to the hallway to another door to Dean...

Suddenly Sam jumped up and lunged at the door, but an arm wrapped around his waist and grabbed his arm, preventing his escape. Sam point black ignored the bad memories the touch was intensifying and struggled against the arms, trying to get the the door, to the hallway, to the other door, to Dean...

"Sam...!" John held onto Sam tightly as he thrashed in John's grip. As John managed to pin Sam's arms down and hold him in a bear hug, he started to realize that Sam was mumbling.

"Let... go... of... me!" he spat, digging his nails into John's arm. "He... he needs me... now...! He... I... you _bastard...!"_

"No, Sam," John said as he applied a choke hold, ignoring the pit in his stomach as Sam's struggles weakened and his mumbles disappeared into nothingness. "He doesn't need you. Not like that."

Sam finally fell limp in John's arms. John just wanted to sit there, cradle his six foot one son, and cry, but he couldn't. He had to stay strong. He had to be his boys' rock while they adjusted to not having their brother as an escape.

John carefully placed Sam on the bed, making a mental note to try and put more meat on Sam's bones. He leaned down and gently kissed his youngest's forehead. "I love you, son." Then he sighed as he stood and left the room, locking the door behind him.

---

After another couple of hours, John finally decided that it was time to check up on Dean.

Checking up on Dean was going to be a bit more... difficult... than it was for Sam. Dean's strength and violent tendencies made him a more formidable opponent when it came to hand-to-hand combat, so keeping him in the room would be a challenge.

Bobby stood behind him as he stood at the door. There was no way John could handle Dean himself, but he was still worried having the both of them potentially manhandling him could overwhelm him. But unfortunately, they didn't really have any other choice.

John knocked on the door. "Dean? Dean, can I come in?"

Dean looked up at the door. He had a quick internal war about whether or not to answer. 

_Don't answer_.

Dean put his head back on his knees.

John sighed, not knowing what to make of the silence. He slowly opened the door, bracing himself for the onslaught that Dean was bound to have prepared.

But the door opened without incident. More than a little surprised, John spared a quick glance back at Bobby before stepping into the room. "Dean?"

Dean's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in a glare. "_What?_" he asked venomously.

John had to force himself to stay neutral, though the sight of his son was... nothing short of awful. Dean was sitting against the wall adjacent to Sam's room, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was trembling, which John had expected, but he was also severely pale, his eyes rimmed with red. It looked as though he had been crying.

John looked at Bobby almost imploringly. Bobby nodded, understanding the silent message, as he leaned forward and closed the door, leaving John and Dean alone.

John knelt next to Dean, as he had with Sam. His eyes momentarily focused on the wall, remembering Sam leaning against the wall in about the same spot. Realizing the similarity in their actions only made John even more compelled to help them become more independent of each other. "I just-"

"Don't give me your fucking reasons," Dean said quietly, still glaring at his father. "I already know your fucking reasons, I already understand the fucking logic." His glare changed into a contemptuous stare. "How am I supposed to trust you, Dad, if you just... _ambush_ us like that?"

"You may have understood the reasoning, but you still wouldn't listen. Sometimes, when the urge too strong, others have to intervene and force them apart."

"You're talking about drugs and people," Dean spat. "We're _both_ people."

"But you guys are a drug to _each other_." John met Dean's glare with his own steady gaze. "It may seem bad now, but _trust me... _I'm doing this for the what's best for both of you. You're my boys. I have to take care of you."

"Trust you... Trust you when you just... You sure didn't try to convince us for very long before you fucking _locked us up!_"

"I think ending up in the hospital with CPS on our tails is extreme enough to call drastic action!" John stood and started to pace the room. Dean was starting to get him riled, even though he knew that staying as calm as possible would be best. Focusing on what his boys need, he stopped pacing and looked down at Dean. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you _think_ I'm feeling, you asshole?"

This would usually be the time where Dean assaulted whoever was pissing him off, but for whatever reason, he didn't. Whether it was because he didn't want to move away from the wall because Sam was somewhere on the other side or because he felt to weak, John didn't know.

John tried to soften his voice. "How are you feeling physically?"

Dean scoffed and looked away. He understood why John did all this. He understood every bit of it. But Dean had to argue. This was hurting him and _Sam_. And whether it be for good reasons or not, you don't hurt Sam. No matter what.

Even so, it killed Dean. While he argued, he knew John was right. But he couldn't yield. Yielding would mean Sam was alone in this... process. And even if Sam didn't know it, Dean would NOT let Sam go through this alone.

"Dean..." John knelled again, "As angry as you are at me, you know I want the best. And I want to help you through this process. Any discomfort that I can, I will take away."

"Except letting me see Sam," Dean said, his voice breaking.

John nodded.

Dean looked back at John. "How is he?"

John sighed. "About the same as you."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah right. The memories are bound to have start up again. There's not way he is even remotely as well off as I am." He rested his forehead on his knees, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes. "Please go away, John."

John winced at the use of his name, but followed Dean's wish. "I'll bring by some dinner later."

After John had left, Dean lifted his head and rested it against the wall, letting his tears fall freely. "It's okay, Sam..." he whispered. "It's gonna be okay..."

* * *

**This chapter was mostly from John's pov I realize, so I promise to focus more on Sam and Dean's pov next chap :)  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**I know it's not as long as you might like, but I'm hoping to get another update or two done this week, cause i'm on spring break at the moment...**

**Enjoy chapter six!**

* * *

John kicked the table, finding only a small iota of satisfaction at the sound of the shattering plates. "God fucking _dammit!_"

"John, you will calm yourself down!" Bobby said. "Destroying my house isn't going to make this situation any better."

"No, but it'll make me feel better!" John gave the fallen table one last kick. "We were making _progress_! And now... god_dammit!"_

"John, sit your ass down before you give yourself a heart attack!"

John glared at Bobby. "Sit down!? That's the LAST thing I should be doing!"

"John, if you don't sit down right now, I will knock you out with the hard end of my gun. Now SIT!"

Scowling, John did as he told. "Bobby, this isn't the time..."

"No. You listen to me, John. You need calm down before we can do anything. You can't just run off, half-assed, after god-knows-what! Before you make any decisions, you need to calm...! _down_...!"

John swallowed, knowing Bobby was right. Taking a deep breath, he buried his head in his shaking hands. For the next couple minutes, John slowly breathed in and out. Once he had regained enough composure, he took his head out of his hands. "How am I ever gonna get Dean to trust me again?"

Bobby looked at John sadly. "He's your boy, John. He'll forgive you eventually..."

John gave a hollow laugh. "First I separate him from his brother and now _this?_ No. Dean will never trust me _ever_ again."

---

Sam and Dean had been separated for a week now. Bobby and the Winchesters had fallen into an uneasy, but regular schedule. And both the brothers seemed to be making some semblance of progress. More so with Dean than Sam.

Dean's shakes and cold sweats had started to subside and he seemed a little clearer of mind. But that only made the barbs he spat at John more calculated. The fact that Dean was getting better only seemed to fuel his anger.

Dean had come to pace restlessly back and forth in his room. He would occasionally switch to raging at the door or sobbing in the corner, but most of the time, he paced.

There was still that vast hole in his mind and body that refused to fill itself with anything else, not even with his own rage. He was physically getting better and that only made Dean feel worse. Because he knew that Sam was just on the other side of that wall and making hardly any progress at all.

Dean fret and dwelled on the fact that Sam was reliving the worst horrors of his own torturous past and the horrors of others' memories. Dean had no such symptom from the separation and that only tore at his insides knowing his brother was suffering alone just on the other side of that damned wall.

Sometimes Dean could hear Sam scream and cry. Hear him beg for the pain to stop, for the memories to cease just a little. But John kept assuring Dean that Sam did seem to be getting better, if only a little. Sam would eat when John had left the room and the more violent memories seemed to be lessening in intensity, though Dean highly doubted it.

But one morning, after Dean woke up from a restless night of sleep, he could tell something was wrong.

Something was _horribly_ wrong.

---

After several days of being assaulted by vivid, painful memories, even thoughts of Dean were drowned out by the din.

The memories weren't a nonstop stream. No. That would have been much much better than this.

They came at random. In a split second, Sam will have relived a portion of his horrid collection of nightmares in a time-dimension that seemed to drag on forever. Once it was over, Sam would stay curled in a tight ball, his body and mind numb. Then he had to _wait._ Wait for the next nightmare to attack him. The longer he had to wait, the more terrified he became.

Sometimes, while he was waiting, he would notice a bowl of soup or plate of some other food. Sam would crawl over and nibble on it for no other reason than he knew Dean would want him to. That and it kept his mind occupied.

Then Daniel would be there, shoving his dick up Sam's ass.

Sam started to feel dead to the world. Like all he was was a rubbery sex toy that was fun to play with in all sorts of ways. He felt like the worst thing in the world. Dead sewer rats were worth more than him. He was filthy and soiled, inside and out. Everyone saw it. Everyone knew it. Everyone except Dean.

Dean...

Sam was starting to come to the conclusion that maybe he didn't deserve his brother. Dean was the best person alive, and what was he? What was he besides dirty and rotten and evil? He brought nothing but pain and misery to people's lives. Especially to Dean's. What right did he have to ruin Dean's life like this? With his worthless self.

This line of thinking was only supported by the fact that the more he believed it, the more the memories left him alone. The memories were there to punish him. And now that he was realizing his true worth, there was less reason to punish him.

And then, one night, Sam fell into a dreamless sleep, caused by some unknown entity.

And when he woke up, he was in alien surroundings.

* * *

**Man, you guys are gonna kill me...  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**I'm actually quite proud of this chapter. Turned out much better than I thought.**

**BTW! A clarification is in order. When I say "alien surroundings," I don't mean an alien planet! When i use the word alien, I use it to mean different or foreign. Sam woke up in surroundings that he didn't recognize. Alien. You will NEVER see aliens in my stories. Supernatural is not the 'verse for them. (unless they're dancing)**

**Happy Easter, to those who celebrate.  
**

**Enjoy chapter seven!**

* * *

Sam was missing.

God knows how or why, but Sam was just... gone.

Okay, that's not entirely true. The bars on Sam's window had been screwed off and the window broken open. So whatever did this was probably human. But who or why any human would want to do this was beyond John. Not many hunters even knew the Winchesters, green as they were. And Bobby was the only one who knew about their abilities, and John knew that he hasn't breathed a word about them to anybody.

John had a full-blown panic attack when he went into Sam's room to find it empty. But Bobby made sure that he didn't pass out or destroy too much of the house.

No doubt Dean heard the commotion.

No doubt Dean was going to kill them when he found out what the commotion was about.

John stood outside Dean's room, his body shaking. He felt like he was going to throw up. Again. He kept trying to figure out the best way to tell Dean, but John knew... there was no 'best' way to tell him. No matter how he broke the news to him, Dean's reaction will be the same. Quick and murderous.

Deciding just to wing it and hope for the best, John unlocked Dean's door and slowly walked inside. "Dean."

Dean froze in his pacing and quickly faced John. "Thank god," he breathed. "Y-you have to check on Sam! Something's wrong! I don't know what, but -- !"

John nodded numbly as he closed the door behind him. "I know, son. I know." John glanced at Dean's face and didn't like what he saw. Dean's eyes were wide and imploring. He was trembling slightly from what John assumed was fear for his little brother and John knew there was no way to make it better.

"And?" Dean asked. "What's wrong? Is he okay? Is he sick or something?"

John shook his head, starting to taste bile in his mouth. "Dean, I think you should sit..."

"NO!" Dean yelled. "Just fucking tell me what's wrong!"

John sighed and nodded. _No beating around the bush then_. _Make it nice and quick._ "Alright. Sam's missing."

He watched and waited for Dean to explode, tackle him, try to kill him... _something_. But none of that happened.

Dean's fearful, imploring eyes widened into a look of shock as the news hit him. Then, his expression changed from shocked... to fearfully neutral.

"When?" he asked, his voice dangerously restrained. "How?"

John was silent for a moment, truly surprised that Dean hadn't attacked him. Taking it as a blessing, he responded. "He was there last night but gone by this morning. By the looks of it, we think it was a human. But we have no idea who or why."

Dean took a sharp inhale of breath, but otherwise remained unchanged. "Is that all you know?"

Feeling on the edge of tears, John nodded. "Bobby's trying to find some leads as to who might have done this but he hasn't found anything yet."

"He can stop looking," Dean said, a dangerous glint in his eye. "I know who took him."

John frowned. "What? How?"

Dean gave a crooked smile. "There's only one human on this planet with the motives and means to track us down and take Sam."

John stared at his son incredulously. "What are you talking about? Who?"

Dean's expression crumbled a little as he murmured, "Bret Montegue."

---

Sam's mind was clearer than it had been in a long time. The memories poked and prodded him, making their presence known, but had yet to conquer his conscience.

Sam swallowed hard as his terror assailed him. He had no idea where he was or why. He couldn't feel his brother at all, not even the small presence he usually felt when Dean was near. He was completely alone.

He was in a concrete room, probably an unfinished basement. A rough manacle was attached to his ankle, rubbing painfully against his skin. It was cold in the basement and Sam was sweating profusely, making him shiver.

Tears fell down his face unbidden as he realized what must have happened. Maybe John finally figured it out. Heck, maybe _Dean_ finally figured it out. This was where Sam belonged. In a stone cage that stank of sewer; fit for a piece of dirty meat like him. Maybe, locked down here, he would finally stop causing pain and suffering to everyone around him.

Sam drew his knees up and cried. Even if this was what he deserved, he still wished he could have at least said goodbye to his brother. Or at least apologize. His body shook with sobs as he thought about Dean's rejection and dismissal. If Sam could have anything, he would ask for just one more minute with his big brother.

But even that was asking for too much.

_Dean was above him, naked and shaking hard. Tears fell down his face as sobs racked his body. Sam could feel the tears falling silent down the side of his face as he stared at the hard metal gun pointed at his brother's head. He was vaguely aware of the quiet chanting that echoed in the room._

_The man that held the gun had a crazed look in his eye. A hungry look. "Do it," he said. "Do it or I blow your brains out. Then your wittle baby bwother will be alone... with _us_."_

_Dean's sobbed harder as he said, "I-I... I'm s-so s-s-sorry..." His harsh cries stole his voice before he could say more, his eyes screwed shut in resignation and despair. His body lurched forward and Sam whimpered and closed his eyes as he felt his big brother inside of him...  
_  
Dean did everything for him. Dean did too much for him. If Sam had never been, Dean would have had the most wonderful childhood where people would fawn over him or give him whatever he liked. But instead, people's vision of Dean was corrupted by Sam's mere presence. Because of Sam, Dean led a childhood filled with suffering and despair.

His innocence stolen away because of Sam's life.

Sam hiccuped as he started to hyperventilate. He was on all fours, trying to catch his breath but his sobs wouldn't stop. Every memory where Dean suffered because of Sam flashed before him, slowly rotting his insides and gnawing at his mind.

Sam wanted to die. If he couldn't have his brother, then Sam just wanted to give up and die. But he was too scared to. What a piece of worthless shit he was. He was no good to the world and didn't even have the decency to kill himself.

A door opened, bright light flooding into the room. Sam cried out and jumped out of the light as it hit his sensitive eyes.

A tall man walked in. For a moment, Sam didn't recognize him. But when the man shut the door behind him and Sam's eyes readjusted, he found himself frozen in terror.

_Sam screamed as the whip cracked across his back, leaving a deep, burning welt._

_"You have an interesting gift, Sam..."_

_Another crack of the whip tore another scream out of Sam, the boy falling into fits of sobs._

_"By the time I break you, you should be fit to use." Bret brought his arm back and let the whip fly one more time, letting it cut deep into Sam's back before the boy finally fell into unconsciousness. _

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**Again, I think you guys are going to kill me -_-  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**I'm actually quite proud of this chapter. Turned out much better than I thought.**

**Wow... i haven't posted since Easter T^T. I'm SOOO sorry! Unfortunately, May is crunch month for me and I'm going to be EXTREMELY busy! But I'll still try to update as soon as possible!  
**

**Enjoy chapter eight!**

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Dean paced the dining room. He was clenching his hands compulsively, waiting to hear word from Bobby.

After telling John that it was most definitely Bret Montegue who took Sam, John questioned Dean, more than a little bit confused.

_"Bret Montegue?" John said incredulously. "As in the same Bret Montegue who kidnapped Mary and ran away after his wife died??"_

_Dean nodded. "Bret and Julie were hunters." He paused as he hesitated. "Obviously that's not something I would have divulged to you and... Mom... at the time."_

_John remembered the events clearly. But after Bret Montegue disappeared from the hospital, he didn't really give the bastard much thought. He was more than a little taken back. But when he thought about it, it did make some sense. He remembered the Montegues insistence on returning the boys back to them, Dean and Sam's reaction to them... the Montegues must have recognized and used Sam's power. What for, John had no idea. "So why now? Why would Bret suddenly kidnap Sam now, after all these years?"_

_Dean hesitated. It's not that he didn't trust John. Well... scratch that. After forcibly separating him from Sam, Dean's trust for John was **seriously** compromised. And maybe that was the cause for his hesitation. But if Dean was going to find Sam, and fast, John needed to know all the fact. "Sam... his ability..." he sighed, frustrated. This was going to be a lot harder than he wished it would be. "Sam has this... ability. An ability separate from from what you know."_

_John frowned. While he assumed that much, he had no idea what power it could possibly be. It certainly hasn't made itself apparent in the last few years. "And what power is that?"_

_Dean started to tremble slightly, really **not**_ _wanting to tell John the whole truth. More than anything, he was worried about what John would do once they got Sam **back**._

_John saw the fear flash across Dean's features. "Dean, I need to know. If we're gonna find Sam, we need to go in with all of us knowing the facts."_

_Dean nodded, understanding the logic, but still reluctant to speak. Finally, he just blurt it out. "He can sense demons."_

_John's eyes widened in surprise. "He can sense **demons**??"_

_Dean flinched slightly. "That's most likely the primary reason why Bret and Julie tried to get us back before. They had used Sam as human compass to hunt down as many demons as they could. I don't really know the details, though. I was kept separate from Sam most of the time."_

_John was speechless, reeling from the revelation of what Sam could do. It made him momentarily wonder why these boys had such abilities._

_"We need to get him back," Dean said, the quaver in his voice gone. "Sam hasn't talked to me much about the past. But from what he **did** tell me, I don't even know if he'll survive this."_

John repeated everything Dean had said to Bobby and Bobby put the word out. There was a rogue hunter, using questionable methods. And he needed to be found.

John and Dean went out to look for Sam in town, but Bret was an experience hunter. With virtually no leads, they didn't have a chance of finding them.

Now they were at Bobby's house, waiting. It had only been a few hours, but with what might be going on, Dean was getting more and more panicked by the second.

"Dean, sit down before you pass out," John said.

Dean spun around to glare at him. "You know, this might have never happened. It's not a coincidence that Sam gets snatched so soon after you separated us."

John turned his head away, not wanting his eyes to belay the fact that he agreed with his son. "This isn't the time for..."

"Like hell it's not!" Dean screamed. "Who knows how long Bret's been on our tail! No offense, but you're a bit new to the supernatural game! It must have been a cakewalk for him to track us...!"

"You're not helping, Dean," John growled.

"Screw you!" Dean yelled. He kicked at one of the chairs, making it fly against the wall. He didn't care what was helping or not. His father needed to hear this. "Sam is probably being tortured, mentally if not physically! If I had been there, I could have at least fought back, if not stopped him! But because _you_ had to separate us, he's gone!"

"Do _not_ use this as an argument against what I did! I separated you two for your own good! So you'd at least be able to function _without_ each other!"

"And how was Sam _'functioning'_ when Bret took him?" Dean spat. "How coherent was he exactly?" Dean shook his head in anger, his fists trembling. "You should have at the very _least_ protected him better in my absence."

John had no argument there, agreeing fully with his son. But... "This wasn't a result of separating you two. This was a result of me failing to protect you. I should have started to ease you two apart years ago. I should have kept you two in the know." John looked away, more than a little angry at himself. "I should have been a better father."

Dean didn't say anything. He couldn't fight back against what he agreed with.

"But now is _not_ the time for a yelling match," John said, tears forming behind his hard mask. "We need to focus on getting your brother back. We can play the blame game _after_."

Dean sighed. He was still angry and really needed to pick a fight, but Sam always came first. He reluctantly nodded and sat down across from his father, shoulders sagging slightly and his head bent down. "I'm going kill that bastard," Dean said, barely audible.

John gave a hollow laugh. "If he's alive after I get to him."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

For a horrible moment, Sam actually _wished_ this was just another memory he was trapped in. But his mind quickly and unconsciously deduced that he's never seen this room before or the scar on Bret's face, so it couldn't possibly be a memory.

Bret shut the door behind him, the click of the lock making Sam flinch. "It's been a while, Sam. How have ya been doing?"

Sam crab-walked backwards until his back hit the wall, his eyes wide and staring at Bret disbelievingly. "B... Br-Bret..." he stuttered.

Bret smiled, glad that Sam seemed to remember him. "I hope you haven't forgotten your training," he said casually, as if talking about the weather. "Don't worry. I put you through a few practice tests just to make sure."

Sam made a choking noise as he remembered Bret's 'training.' Bret had used a variety of methods to break him down, making him controllable and submissive. The Montegue household was the first to truly break Sam, and he hasn't recovered since.

Bret noticed the boy's increased trembling with a smile. He was glad to see that his training has had a lasting effect.

When he had first met the boy, he was a hesitant, but lively creature. Much like his brother (though with less vigor) he would openly defy him and Julie. So, in order to save Dean from his brother's influence, he had them separated. He gave Dean to Julie for her to help him recover, and he dealt with Sam. While a nuisance, he also proved to be _very_ useful.

_Julie..._

Bret reigned back his rage, knowing if he let it go he might end up killing Sam. And that would defeat the purpose of kidnapping him in the first place.

Sam could barely breathe, his terror was so high. Bret was just standing there and with each passing moment, Sam wished he would just die.

Finally, Bret seemed to break out of whatever reverie he was in and stuck a hand in his pocket, pulling out a pair of latex gloves. "Now..." Bret said as he pulled the gloves on, "these practice tests are simple. As long as you do everything I say, you should pass with flying colors, okay?"

Sam nodded his head spasmodically, fearing what Bret was going to ask him to do.

"Good." Bret opened the door, ignoring Sam's quick intake of breath as the harsh light hit Sam's sensitive eyes. "Come with me."

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**Hope ya'll enjoyed it! Leave me a review, letting me know what you think!  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**THE SEASON FINALE IS TONIGHT! I actually don't have any confident guesses in how it's going to end. That means it'll be more suspenseful for me, then. XD For those of you going to watch it tonight, enjoy! and remember, there's IS a sixth season, so tonight's not the end ;)**

**This chapter is okay. I flowed, I'm just not quite sure it flowed particularly _well_. You'll just have to let me know :P  
**

**Enjoy chapter nine!**

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_"He bought a derelict house about six months ago or so. He's been off the hunter radar since then, be we have it under good intel that he's been hunting still_."

"Alright..." Bobby grabbed a piece of paper and pen. "Can you give me the address of the house?"

_"I don't have the actually address, but I know the house is somewhere around Lusk, Wyoming."_

"Alright. Thanks, Josh."

Dean, who had been leaning against the wall, stood a little straighter, his eyes wide with hope. "We got a lead?"

"Yup. Seems Bret bought a house for no apparent reason few months back. Since active hunters don't _buy_ houses, I'm assuming there's something else going on there." Bobby gave Dean an even glare. "I suppose it wouldn't be a surprise to assume that Bret is obsessed over Sam?"

Dean ignored the pit in his stomach. "Yeah... he thought Sam was a gift from God. A tool to hunt down demons with." He shrugged, a smirk appearing on his face. "Not to mention he's probably pissed 'cause I killed his wife."

John slammed his hand on the table. "You didn't kill his wife!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I shot the bullet. She died." He stood up from the wall and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go. The sooner we get there, the better."

John and Bobby nodded, following suit. John glanced at his eldest for a moment. Dean seemed unusually calm, given he circumstances. Usually, when things involved Sam, Dean would go into a rage, destroying everything in his path until his brother was safe. But ever since Dean discovered Sam was missing, Dean was nothing but calm and calculated. John shook his head. He had no doubt that Dean was keeping all his emotions in, which was very unlike Dean. Dean was always one to speak his mind, only shutting down when it came to his own grief or traumas. But now... it was hard to even detect the rage that he was no doubt experiencing. John had had too much experience with this kind of thing to know that this wouldn't end well. This kind of faux tranquility will eventually lead to a serious blow out on Dean's part. A serous loss of control.

But John didn't know what to do to prevent it.

"I'll lead," Bobby said as they walked out to their cars. "The house is some where in Lusk, Wyoming, so it shouldn't take longer than five or six hours to get there. Four, if we're lucky."

"Let's hope we're lucky," John said. They shared a nod of acknowledgment as he and Dean got into the Impala.

In the time it took to get from Bobby's house onto the highway, John and Dean remained in a comfortable silence.

Okay, so maybe comfortable wasn't the right word. Neither man was comfortable, but they didn't have a desire to talk either. Not about anything for any reason. They were both lost in their own thoughts and fears.

John was gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep the red hot embers in his chest under control. He wanted nothing more than to just go into a rampage, not unlike the ones Dean used to do.

Bret, that fucking _bastard_, has taken his son. And that sick _fuck_ was doing god knows what to him right now. The mere thought of Bret hurting his son made his anger flare.

John took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He was only able to keep his rage under control with the silent promise to himself that he would be able to release it upon Bret.

He spared a quick glance at his eldest. Dean was sitting stoically, face neutral. John knew he should try and get Dean to stop holding everything in, but the pure hypocrisy of trying to do so kept John's mouth shut. The best he could do now was to try and get his brother back as soon as possible.

Dean stared blankly out the window, unseeing of the landscape running by. While his mind was in turmoil, he actually felt unusually calm. His anger was the usual burning inside his chest.

This was a much more _dangerous _anger. Patient, cold, calculating. There was no question about it, Dean was pissed as hell. But really, that was just an extreme understatement. What Dean was feeling was much much more than anything he's ever felt before. When they finally find Bret, Dean was going to make sure Bret cursed the day his parents decided to get friendly, because Dean was going to make absolutely sure that Bret would never hurt his little brother _ever again_.

* * *

Rob sighed. This was taking way to long. Surely Bret knew by now whether or not the kid was usable. Rob rolled his eyes as he threw shotgun he was cleaning down on the half-rotted bed and marched down into the basement. "Bret? You can't tell me you're still testing the kid?"

Bret looked up from what he was doing. "I'm just about done Rob. Not only do I think he's prime and ready, but I do believe he's identified our first target."

Rob looked at the kid. He was tied to a chair, electrodes attached to his bare chest. The skin under the electrodes were inflamed from electric burns. Rob almost winced from sympathy. The kid was sweating profusely and twitching uncontrollably. A cloth gag filled his mouth, which would explain why Rob couldn't hear the screams before. The kid's eyes were wide and glassy and filled with terror as they followed Bret's form around the room.

There was a table with a map of the country in front of the kid. A bright red tack was sticking out of North Dakota.

Rob looked back at the machine Bret was using to torture with. "Didn't realize you were gonna torture the kid with it."

Bret shrugged. "Best way to make 'im talk. And don't call him kid. Kids can't track demons. If anything, he's subhuman." He slapped the side of Sam's head hard, as if to prove a point. The kid whimpered and trembled, but didn't take his wide fearful eyes off of Bret for a second. Bret smirked.

Rob sighed. Ever since Bret's wife died, he's been somewhat... off. He would even go as far as to say borderline insane. But it didn't detract from that fact that Bret was still an amazing hunter. And if this kid - thing, whatever - really could help them hunt down demons, he saw nothing wrong with that.

Bret started to untie Sam. "As we get closer, we'll be able to get a more exactly location on where it is." He grabbed Sam by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Sam gasped in pain, still staring at Bret fearfully.

Rob gave and small huff and smiled. It was kind of strange seeing Sam so fearful as he towered over Bret. Bret obviously had a good hold on this kid.

Still gripping Sam's hair, Bret shoved him forward. "Get a move on!"

Sam was breathing erratically. His entire body was thrumming in pain from the electrocutions and his legs felt like they were made out of jelly. On top of that, a myriad of images and emotions were flashing through him. Images of Julie laying on the floor, bleeding from a stomach wound, feelings of loss and despair. Sam let out a sob as Bret's memories started to consume him, but Bret just shoved him forward, letting him fall hard against the wall.

"Don't pull that mumbo jumbo on me!" Bret snarled. He swung his fist and hit Sam's temple, not pulling back even a little. He grinned in pleasure at Sam's short cry of pain. He was actually mildly impressed that Sam was still standing, considering the circumstances. He wrapped a hand around Sam's neck and slammed him up against the wall, looking directly into his eyes. "I understand it'll take some time, but if you've got even an _ounce_ of self-preservation, then you'll learn to submit to me _quickly_."

Sam quickly nodded, a hand covering his temple. The flesh was throbbing with dull pain, making his eyes water. It's been years since a human had hit him. His memories, vivid as they were, didn't come close to the real thing. His memories didn't capture the fact that the feeling of flesh upon flesh tore up your insides as well, making you feel less than human with each blow. More than anything, Sam wanted to just curl up and let the horrible memories take over, take him away from this place. _Anything_ was better than here. But even Sam's survival instincts were strong enough to tell him that trying to do so would be a bad idea. Even now, as Bret's memories tried to dominate his mind, Sam fought against it. The last thing he wanted to was give Bret a reason to hurt him anymore.

Bret nodded. "Good." He pulled Sam away from the wall and shoved him at Rob. "Get him into the car. I'll be up in a second."

Rob nodded, shoving Sam up the stairs. Sam gasped and trembled, his legs starting to buckle. But he managed to stay upright and stumbled to wherever Rob was dragging him.

When the got outside, Rob opened the trunk of the old blue muscle car. Not giving the kid a moment, Rob forcibly shoved him into the trunk, hitting Sam's gangly limps with the butt of his gun to get them inside. "Fucking stay quiet!" He punched Sam in the stomach, ignoring his cry of pain as he slammed the trunk shut.

Sam started to hyperventilate, the darkness of the trunk squeezing him into a small terrified ball. Ignoring the pain that was still coursing through his body, he gripped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block everything out.

_Dean... Dean, please find me! I promise I'll be a better brother... just please find me!  
_

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**Hope ya'll enjoyed it! Leave me a review, letting me know what you think!  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**School is FINALLY started to wind down. However some things are just starting to wind up T^T **

**Still, i am trying to get into the groove of updating on a regular basis again. **

**I know this chapter is relatively short... hopefully I'll be able to update again soon...  
**

**Enjoy chapter ten!**

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As soon as speedometer was below 10 mpg, Dean pulled out his pistol and jumped out of the car.

"Dean!" John yelled, slamming the brakes and jumping out himself. "Dammit, Dean! WAIT!"

Dean completely ignored him as he ran to the derelict house and kicked the door in.

"BRET!" Dean screamed as he ran in, making sure his pistol was pointing in front of him the entire time. He wanted to be able to pull the trigger as soon as he saw the bastard. "Bret! Get the fuck out here with Sam!"

Praying that neither one of the Winchesters were going to get themselves killed, Bobby quickly followed them, taking a bit more caution. _Damn idjits..._

After John did a quick sweep of the upstairs and Dean established that no one was on the ground floor, they looked toward the basement door. For some undefinable reason, they didn't run towards the door in any sort of panic or blind fit a rage as before.

For a moment, Dean just stared at the door. He already knew Sam wasn't here. He would have at least sensed him by now. He knew that the place was empty... But he still needed to check the basement.

John watched Dean carefully. As unpredictable as Dean was being right now, John knew that he couldn't let his guard down for a single moment.

Dean stepped forward and descended the basement stairs, casually flicking the light on. John and Bobby completely forgotten, he scanned the basement with growing horror at what he saw.

John had closely followed behind Dean, and when he saw what was in down there, he had to clutch his gun hard to keep himself from visually reacting.

The unfinished basement was mostly empty except for a table, chair, and some sort of metal device. It didn't take long to deduce what had happened though. There were blood-covered electrodes connected to the machine; the occasional smears of blood that stained the floor and walls made a trail from the chair to the staircase.

Without any warning, Dean run up the stairs, blindly knocking John and Bobby out of the way as he ran out of the basement and out of the house. It was too stifling in there. He needed to get out. He needed to get out of that house and away from that _room_.

"Dean!" John quickly got up and ran after his eldest. He couldn't let Dean out of his sight. He had to make sure Dean didn't do anything drastic.

But he didn't have to worry. As soon as he got outside, he found Dean just standing in the middle off long grass, breathing heavily; whether from exertion or panic, John wasn't sure.

Dean forcibly calmed his breathing down, not wanting John or Bobby's sympathy. Sensing both the men behind him, he said, "Sam found a demon. They're going after it now."

Bobby felt sorry for the boy, but he needed to know the facts. "Do you have any idea where they might have gone? Did Sam only have a certain range or...?"

Dean laughed bitterly. "Hell, if I know. Not like I ever asked. And I never went with them before." He shook his head as he headed back to the impala without a backwards glance. "We have to start the search from scratch."

Sam flinched and whimpered as the trunk was opened. Not even giving a second's reprieve, Bret grabbed Sam by the arm and yanked him out, watching Sam crumble to the ground in a trembling heap with a cold indifference. He yanked out a map of the local area and thrust it into Sam's face. "Where's the demon?"

As much as he tried to control it, Sam's breathing was erratic and panicky. His stomach was tied in such a tight knot that he felt like he was going to vomit any second. He was trembling so hard that he barely had any control of his motor functions. The terror was so thick in his veins now that Sam could physically feel it taking over his body.

Getting impatient, Bret backhanded Sam, ignoring the loud thunk of Sam's head hitting the car.

"Easy, Bret!" Rob said. "Don't wanna kill 'im before we even get to the demon."

Bret scoffed. "I ain't gonna kill him." He threw the map down and grabbed Sam by his shirt. "You're gonna live a nice... long... life." He repeatedly slammed Sam's body against the car to emphasize his words. He smiled cruely as Sam started to sob. "You're gonna hunt demons with me... until either I die... or until I no longer have any use for you."

Bret grabbed Sam's jaw, squeezing it hard. It wasn't until then that Sam noticed the gloves Bret was wearing. "And don't think your brother's coming for you. If he knows what's best, he'll be thankful I took you off his hands and move on."

Sam started sobbing in earnest, the thought of his brother leaving him with Bret just too much for his fractured psyche to handle. "N-no..." he whimpered. "Deeean..."

Bret squeezed Sam's jaw harder to get him to stop talking. "And... if for some reason, I _do_ see your brother again..." Bret smirked. "I'll cut his throat right in front of your eyes."

Sam's vision started to blacken as he choked on his sobs. The fabricated image of Dean, bloodied and dead, flashed unwillingly before his eyes, nearly sending him over the edge.

Bret laughed. "So do we have an understanding now, freak?"

Sam screwed his eyes shut and nodded frantically. He had never felt so cornered and alone.

"Now..." Bret picked up the map. "Where's the demon?"

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**Hope ya'll enjoyed it! Leave me a review, letting me know what you think!  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.**

**Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.**

**It's summer... I'm not supposed to be busy T^T **

***sigh* but I am. Nevertheless, I have an update. It's longer than usual... and it's a good one. I'm very proud of this chapter :)  
**

**Enjoy chapter eleven!**

* * *

Dean stood just outside their motel room, lighting his cigarette with shaking hands. When he finally got it lit, he took a long draft. He closed his eyes as he held it in for a moment, then slowly exhaled.

It's been almost a month since Bret took Sam. It seems like they always got close to finally catching up with the bastard when it turns out he's always one step ahead. As far as they can tell, Bret's taken out at least five demons by now. Normally, this would be fantastic news. But not when they knew how Bret was accomplishing this.

Two weeks ago, Dean took up smoking. John nearly bit his head off when he found out, screaming all the reasons why Dean shouldn't be even_ considering_ smoking. Dean simply stated that he was doing nothing illegal and calmly told John to fuck off. This just fueled the already irate John.

It wasn't until Bobby took John aside to speak with him that John finally got off Dean's back. While it was obvious that John was still extremely unhappy, he didn't bring it up again.

Dean honestly didn't give a flying fuck what his father thought of him right now. John could go screw himself for all he cared. Dean was too busy worrying about Sam.

It had become commonplace for him to wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat, memories and possibilities haunting him. He wasn't much better during the daytime. He had frequent flashbacks and panic attacks (though he managed to hide this from his father and Bobby) and often physically lashed out at his surrogate fathers.

When he accidentally gave Bobby a black eye, Dean knew he had to put a stop to it. Having sworn long ago to never drink a drop of alcohol, he instead started to smoke. It calmed him down and kept him more focused on the task at hand. And, as weak a substitute as it was, it marginally helped to fill the void left by Sam's absence. Dean had no intention of becoming addicted or smoking for long. This was just until they found Sam. At that point, Dean could let himself go and tear Bret limb from limb. Then he and Sam can go back to the way things were before. The way things _should_ be.

Dean didn't turn around when the motel door behind him opened. He just continued to stare into space, smoking his cigarette leisurely.

John curled his nose slightly and resisted the urge to cough as he stepped out of the motel room. As much as it bothered him, John forced himself to stay silent on the subject.

Since Dean started to smoke two weeks ago, everything started to reek. How, John had no idea. But everything from their clothes to the Impala stunk of cigarette smoke.

But that wasn't nearly as bad as the thought of what Dean was doing to his health. That's why he went ballistic in the first place. He didn't separate the boys just so they could hook themselves onto a different addiction.

John finally decided to leave it for the moment when Bobby reminded John that their number one priority at the moment was getting Sam back. Everything else could be dealt with later. John had just nodded his head, not enjoying being reminded that Sam was still out there in the hands of a madman. While John wasn't going to give up, he's finding his hope starting to diminish.

"Dean?" John said quietly.

Dean blew out a billow of smoke, his gaze still affixed to that invisible point in space. "What?"

"We're gonna head out pretty early tomorrow morning. You should come in and get some sleep."

Dean gave a huffed laugh. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

John rolled his eyes at the non-answer. "You really think you're gonna do Sam any good if you're exhausted when we find him."

Dean drew a long draft from the cigarette. Holding the smoke in, he dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it with his shoe. Curling his lip up in a half-smile/half-snarl, he said, "You really think we're gonna find Sam any time soon?" Smoke spiraled from his mouth and nostrils.

John stared at Dean incredulously. "You can't tell me you're giving _up..._?"

"No!" Dean barked. "I'm just being realistic. The chances of finding Sam within the next week are astronomically low. Bret is operating with cash and isn't utilizing any part of the hunter network. On top of that, we know he's erected mystical barriers, veiling them from psychics and seeker spells. Bret's smart. He knows we're after him and knows that we won't stop until we've found him. He also knows that his best bet is to either kill us or hide." Dean chuckled as he hit his cigarette pack forcefully against his hand. "But he's a coward. That's why he didn't try and kill us the night he took Sam."

John stood stunned as he listened to Dean's cold analysis of the situation. While Dean had been calm and cold as of late, it's only very recently that his demeanor has taken such a... _humorous_ tinge.

Dean pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. "Finding Bret is going to be analogous to a blind man searching for the needle in the haystack," he mumbled as he pulled out his lighter. "We've always been _at least_ a solid step behind him. You really think that's going to change anytime soon?"

John said nothing as Dean lit his cigarette. A million thoughts ran through his mind in protest to what his son was saying, but he found himself unable to utter a single one.

Dean gave a small smile as he drew in the first draft of a fresh cigarette. "We'll find Sam. But if we get our hopes up with every new lead, the search is just going to take longer." He finally turned to John, his expression the epitome of cold indifference. "We have to be realistic."

Not giving John the chance to answer, Dean walked away from the motel to be alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Sam pressed the bright red tack into the map. It was satisfying, really. The feeling under his fingers in the very moment that the paper and cork underneath gave way to the pressure he applied. It felt like a victory. One worth celebrating.

A gloved hand suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him away, lurching Sam from his momentary victory.

"Excellent," Bret breathed, his eyes wide with greed. "It's not far from here..."

Sam just stood there, his arm trapped in Bret's vice-like grip. This happened a lot. Sam would press the tack into the map and Bret would get excited. Then they would go off, Bret driving and Sam tied and secure in the trunk.

Bret would always have a task to complete where ever Sam placed the tack. His role never changed. He was the hero. The savior. Sam's role always changed. Sometimes he was the distraction. Sometimes he was the bait. Sometimes he was the favor. Sometimes he was the reward.

Time had become homogeneous. And yet varied. Sam spent most of it in the trunk, tied up and secure. Sometimes the time in the trunk went by so fast, it's as though no time passed at all. But sometimes, it feels as though he'll never get out. He's been left there, all alone with his own thoughts until he died of dehydration.

Bret was rarely pleased. It seemed the only time Bret seemed genuinely happy was when Sam put the tack in the map. Besides that, he was always cold and quick to anger. Sam was always in pain, his face always swollen. However, the pain did change. If Bret was in a rage, he would just beat Sam into unconsciousness. If he was just angry, he would just rough Sam up a bit. If he was furious, his torture of Sam was meticulous and always left Sam begging between sobs.

But Sam's number one goal was to make Bret happy. Bret had done so much for Sam. Even though Sam was worthless and dirty in every way imaginable, Bret took care of him, gave him a purpose. Sam owes so much to him.

Bret looked at his watch. "If we leave now, we can get there by midnight." He finally let go of Sam's arm and started to pack up the map.

Sam stood there patiently waiting for Bret to tell him what to do. He clenched and unclenched his hand, cringing at the waves of pins and needles.

After Bret finished packing, he motioned for Sam to follow him outside. Sam obediently trailed behind him, his left foot dragging slightly behind him.

Bret opened the trunk to the old muscle car and threw his bag in. "Get in, freak."

Sam started to crawl into the trunk, but his foot slipped on the edge. He fell forward, the top half of his body falling into the trunk with a loud thud and his legs kicking out involuntarily, hitting Bret's arm.

Not a moment later, Sam felt Bret grip the back of his shirt and yank him out. "The fuck you doing, you little shit!"

"I-I-I'm sorry!" Sam sputtered fearfully. "I-I didn't mean to! I just - !"

Bret slammed his fist into Sam's face, letting the boy fall onto the asphalt. "You worthless whore..."

Sam curled up on the hot ground, whimpering fearfully. His hands were covering where Bret hit him. It was hot and thrumming with pain.

Bret kicked Sam's lower back for good measure, smiling when Sam arched back in pain. Sam let out a strangled sob as he tried to curl back in on himself, but the pain wouldn't allow him to.

Bret knelt next to Sam, grabbing his hair and cruelly pulling his head off the ground. "You okay, freak?"

Sam weakly nodded, staring at Bret fearfully through swollen eyes. "Y-yes."

Bret smiled sarcastically. "Good." He stood and pulled Sam up to his feet my his hair, completely ignoring Sam's screams.

When Sam's feet finally found purchase on the ground, he found himself thrown into the trunk. Rough ropes were tied tightly around Sam's wrists and ankles and secured to two hooks that were in the interior of the trunk. Bret chuckled as he made sure the rope was taut. "What do you say?"

Sam looked up at Bret, his tearful eyes full of trust. "Thank you."

* * *

**hahahaha (she chuckles nervously) Don't kill me.  
**

**Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!**


	12. Apologyexplanation

**Hey guys. Okay, first off, I want to apologize for not updating in... well FOREVER. I also want to apologize for giving you false hope that this was an update.**

**I just want to say that I WILL continue this story. Here is how everything will procede. First, I'm going to finish up The Hunter's Common. Once that story is over, I will work on Devil's Advocate until that story is done. Finally, I will work on Withdrawal until _that_ is done. I will not be starting any new stories until those three are done.  
**


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